It was on the way to Sandown Park that I met him first, on that horribly
wet July afternoon when Bendigo won the Eclipse Stakes. He sat opposite
to me in the train going down, and my attention was first attracted to
him by the marked contrast between his appearance and his attire: he had
not thought fit to adopt the regulation costume for such occasions, and
I think I never saw a man who had made himself more aggressively horsey.
The mark of the beast was sprinkled over his linen: he wore snaffle
sleeve-links, a hard hunting-hat, a Newmarket coat, and extremely tight
trousers. And with all this, he fell as far short of the genuine
sportsman as any stage super who ever wore his spurs upside down in a
hunting-chorus. His expression was mild and inoffensive, and his watery
pale eyes and receding chin gave one the idea that he was hardly to be
trusted astride anything more spirited than a gold-headed cane. And yet,
somehow, he aroused compassion rather than any sense of the ludicrous:
he had that look of shrinking self-effacement which comes of a recent
humiliation, and, in spite of all extravagances, he was obviously a
gentleman; while something in his manner indicated that his natural
tendency would, once at all events, have been to avoid any kind of
extremes.

He puzzled and interested me so much that I did my best to enter into
conversation with him, only to be baffled by the jerky embarrassment
with which he met all advances, and when we got out at Esher, curiosity
led me to keep him still in view.

Evidently he had not come with any intention of making money. He avoided
the grand stand, with the bookmakers huddling in couples, like hoarse
lovebirds; he kept away from the members' inclosure, where the Guards'
band was endeavouring to defy the elements which emptied their vials
into the brazen instruments; he drifted listlessly about the course till
the clearing-bell rang, and it seemed as if he was searching for some
one whom he only wished to discover in order to avoid.

Sandown, it must be admitted, was not as gay as usual that day, with its
'deluged park' and 'unsummer'd sky,' its waterproofed toilettes and
massed umbrellas, whose sides gleamed livid as they caught the
light--but there was a general determination to ignore the unseasonable
dampness as far as possible, and an excitement over the main event of
the day which no downpour could quench.

The Ten Thousand was run: ladies with marvellously confected bonnets
lowered their umbrellas without a murmur, and smart men on drags shook
hands effusively as, amidst a frantic roar of delight, Bendigo strode
past the post. The moment after, I looked round for my incongruous
stranger, and saw him engaged in a well-meant attempt to press a currant
bun upon a carriage-horse tethered to one of the trees--a feat of
abstraction which, at such a time, was only surpassed by that of
Archimedes at the sack of Syracuse.

After that I could no longer control my curiosity--I felt I must speak
to him again, and I made an opportunity later, as we stood alone on a
stand which commanded the finish of one of the shorter courses, by
suggesting that he should share my umbrella.

Before accepting he glanced suspiciously at me through the rills that
streamed from his unprotected hat-brim. 'I'm afraid,' I said, 'it is
rather like shutting the stable-door after the steed is stolen.'

He started. 'He _was_ stolen, then,' he cried; 'so you have heard?'

I explained that I had only used an old proverb which I thought might
appeal to him, and he sighed heavily.

'I was misled for the moment,' he said: 'you have guessed, then, that I
have been accustomed to horses?'

'You have hardly made any great secret of it.'

'The fact is,' he said, instantly understanding this allusion to his
costume, 'I--I put on these things so as not to lose the habit of
riding altogether--I have not been on horseback lately. At one time I
used to ride constantly--constantly. I was a regular attendant in Rotten
Row--until something occurred which shook my nerve, and I am only
waiting now for the shock to subside.'

I did not like to ask any questions, and we walked back to the station,
and travelled up to Waterloo in company, without any further reference
to the subject.

As we were parting, however, he said, 'I wonder if you would care to
hear my full story some day? I cannot help thinking it would interest
you, and it would be a relief to me.'

I was ready enough to hear whatever he chose to tell me; and persuaded
him to dine with me at my rooms that evening, and unbosom himself
afterwards, which he did to an extent for which I confess I was
unprepared.

That he himself implicitly believed in his own story, I could not doubt;
and he told it throughout with the oddest mixture of vanity and modesty,
and an obvious struggle between a dim perception of his own absurdity
and the determination to spare himself in no single particular, which,
though it did not overcome my scepticism, could not fail to enlist
sympathy. But for all that, by the time he entered upon the more
sensational part of his case, I was driven to form conclusions
respecting it which, as they will probably force themselves upon the
reader's own mind, I need not anticipate here.

I give the story, as far as possible, in the words of its author; and
have only to add that it would never have been published here without
his full consent and approval.

'My name,' said he, 'is Gustavus Pulvertoft. I have no occupation, and
six hundred a year. I lived a quiet and contented bachelor until I was
twenty-eight, and then I met Diana Chetwynd for the first time. We were
spending Christmas at the same country-house, and it did not take me
long to become the most devoted of her many adorers. She was one of the
most variously accomplished girls I had ever met. She was a skilled
musician, a brilliant amateur actress; she could give most men thirty
out of a hundred at billiards, and her judgment and daring across the
most difficult country had won her the warm admiration of all
hunting-men. And she was neither fast nor horsey, seeming to find but
little pleasure in the society of mere sportsmen, to whose conversation
she infinitely preferred that of persons who, like myself, were rather
agreeable than athletic. I was not at that time, whatever I may be now,
without my share of good looks, and for some reason it pleased Miss
Chetwynd to show me a degree of favour which she accorded to no other
member of the house-party.

It was annoying to feel that my unfamiliarity with the open-air sports
in which she delighted debarred me from her company to so great an
extent; for it often happened that I scarcely saw her until the evening,
when I sometimes had the bliss of sitting next to her at dinner; but on
these occasions I could not help seeing that she found some pleasure in
my society.

I don't think I have mentioned that, besides being exquisitely lovely,
Diana was an heiress, and it was not without a sense of my own
presumption that I allowed myself to entertain the hope of winning her
at some future day. Still, I was not absolutely penniless, and she was
her own mistress, and I had some cause, as I have said, for believing
that she was, at least, not ill-disposed towards me. It seemed a
favourable sign, for instance, when she asked me one day why it was I
never rode. I replied that I had not ridden for years--though I did not
add that the exact number of those years was twenty-eight.

'Oh, but you must take it up again!' she said, with the prettiest air of
imperiousness. 'You ought to ride in the Row next season.'

'If I did,' I said, 'would you let me ride with you sometimes?'

'We should meet, of course,' she said; 'and it is such a pity not to
keep up your riding--you lose so much by not doing so.'

Was I wrong in taking this as an intimation that, by following her
advice, I should not lose my reward? If you had seen her face as she
spoke, you would have thought as I did then--as I do now.

And so, with this incentive, I overcame any private misgivings, and soon
after my return to town attended a fashionable riding-school near Hyde
Park, with the fixed determination to acquire the whole art and mystery
of horsemanship.

That I found learning a pleasure I cannot conscientiously declare. I
have passed happier hours than those I spent in cantering round four
bare whitewashed walls on a snorting horse, with my interdicted stirrups
crossed upon the saddle. The riding-master informed me from time to time
that I was getting on, and I knew instinctively when I was coming off;
but I must have made some progress, for my instructor became more
encouraging. 'Why, when you come here first, Mr. Pulvertoft, sir, you
were like a pair o' tongs on a wall, as they say; whereas now--well, you
can tell yourself how you are,' he would say; though, even then, I
occasionally had reason to regret that I was _not_ on a wall. However, I
persevered, inspired by the thought that each fresh horse I crossed (and
some were very fresh indeed) represented one more barrier surmounted
between myself and Diana, and encouraged by the discovery, after
repeated experiments, that tan was rather soothing to fall upon than
otherwise.

When I walked in the Row, where a few horsemen were performing as
harbingers of spring, I criticised their riding, which I thought
indifferent, as they neglected nearly all the rules. I began to
anticipate a day when I should exhibit a purer and more classic style of
equestrianism. And one morning I saw Diana, who pulled up her dancing
mare to ask me if I had remembered her advice, and I felt proudly able
to reply that